


To feel the burning light

by beautifulcheat (Katalyst)



Series: the fearless flight [2]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Mythological AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25011784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalyst/pseuds/beautifulcheat
Summary: An abandoned shed at the edge of a Cretan marketplace was Alex's refuge.  He never expected to find anyone else there -- let alone a light fingered fellow musician with a sinful smile and a secret so big it would change Alex's life, forever.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Series: the fearless flight [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1810945
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	To feel the burning light

Michael loved the markets of the Greek islands, the hustle and the noise of them, the spark and heat from the blacksmiths, the laughter and fights, the exotic fruits, sweet wines… and the beautiful people, all with stories, all with hopes and dreams. 

Most people thought his kind thrived on worship. Michael didn’t think it was true. He wasn’t markedly different than any of the humans he loved to surround himself with, save those strange powers that set him and his siblings apart, marked them as gods. 

No one saw that here, though, especially not during a day with such clear blue skies, when the glow to his skin and hair could be explained by the sun hitting it just so. 

As he wandered, aimless, his eyes were caught by a young man, just out of boyhood slipping through the crowd. He was wearing a dark cloak, hood up even in the warm weather, and it was odd enough that Michael just had to follow him, to know more.

He followed him through to the edges of the market, giving way to the slums, and watched him duck into a ragged, rotting little shed. 

A few moments later, the sound of a lyre rang out, soft in the afternoon heat. Michael caught his breath… creeping closer, until he was sitting right against the shed, back against the wall he imagined the other was leaning on, closed his eyes and listened to the song being picked out, slow but sure. It was nothing he’d ever heard before, and somehow it was just immediately obvious that it was the boy’s own creation. 

It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. A melody he wanted to curl up and live in. He held his breath, as if even that noise would break the spell.

When the music stopped, he opened his eyes again, as if waking from a dream... realizing that night was falling, fast. It seemed the musician felt the same sort of urgency at twilight’s fall, because there was a low curse, a panicked flurry of footsteps… and he was bursting out of the shed and running off into the purple-tinted streets. Michael watched his figure disappear around a corner, with a soft sense of loss, of… regret. But his own soft glow brought him back to reality, and he cursed too, on his feet and ducking into the shed, looking for anything he could use to keep people from looking too closely at him.

He found a worn blanket that would serve, and he wrapped it around himself, a makeshift cloak, and tried not to press his nose into it, to see if he could smell the other under the dust. He’d bring it back in the morning light, he promised himself, as he stepped out, memorizing the location of the shed and heading off into the night, too. 

-*-

Of course Michael had never been an early riser at the best of times, and his dreams were haunted by music so keenly remembered it was like a bruise that he couldn’t stop pressing. Fitful sleep chased him through the morning, and it wasn’t until the sun was high in the sky that he found his way back to the shed, blanket folded neatly over one arm and a basket of figs and bread in his other hand. He set them down, and his eye was caught by the lyre, tucked neatly behind a shelf, almost completely out of the gaze of prying eyes. 

He looked around, as if there were someone to see him, and then went to slide it out of its hiding place… going to find a spot to sit with it, tucking it onto his hip and stroking fingers over its strings. It was cheap, but lovingly kept. Michael picked out a scale, tuned a string here and there, let his fingers find a melody and sink into it. 

Time and the distant ebb of the marketplace slipped away, until there was nothing but the melody, Michael’s eyes closing as he let it take over, take him away. 

-*-

Alex sat, tense and silent. Trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous as he could, even though he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it didn’t matter how small or silent he was, that his father’s dissatisfied gaze would inevitably fall on him. 

But oh, maybe this time, his father’s attention would be held in his workshop _just_ long enough, before he was called to attend the king, and maybe _today_ would be different than the long stretch of days that came before it. 

It couldn’t hurt to try. 

In the end, it wasn’t the worst of days, nor was it the best. He was only briefly the target of his father’s ire, and he was actually able to escape down to his refuge on the edge of the market earlier than he normally might have. 

The sound of music drew him up short, before he ducked in. Alex’s brows gathering as he poked his head into the shed, seeing someone utterly unfamiliar, playing his lyre. _His_ lyre, in his private space. He was furious as he grabbed it out of the other’s hands. “What the hell.” 

The other looked up at him, eyes going wide and startled, and it was only then that Alex realized how _beautiful_ he was, all golden, tousled curls, tanned skin, and honey eyes. 

“Oh. You’re back.” He said. “I tuned it for you.” He said, as he got up, shaking his hair out of his eyes a little.   
  
Alex frowned, watching him… eyes sliding around the room. The blanket, neatly folded and set aside, a basket of fruit and bread on the floor next to it. Putting things together. “What’s your name?” 

He hesitated for just a moment. “Michael.” He responded, as if he had to think about it. It didn’t matter though. Alex just needed something to call him by. 

“Alex.” He says, nodding a little. “If you… need to stay once in a while, that’s fine. Just don’t mess anything up.” And he couldn’t help but hold the lyre tighter. 

Michael smiled, and Alex forgot to breathe. “Thanks.” He said, nodding, and going to slip past Alex.   
  
“Wait!” Alex called, as soon as the other’s eyes were off him and he could remember how to think again. He leaned down to pick up the basket of food. “You forgot your food…” Turning back to him, offering it. 

Michael paused, just out of the shed, standing in the sunlight. He smiled. “It’s a gift. To thank you.” 

Alex was somewhat dumbfounded, watching Michael turn and walk away. 

-*-

The next time Alex saw Michael, he was in the marketplace. It was hard to miss him, the bright gold of his hair like a fire in the crowd that he was slipping through.

Alex watched Michael as he passed by the stalls -- stole a handful of fruit here, some bread there. He didn’t _seem_ like the light fingered type, but he was managing to liberate a surprising amount of food and even a bottle of wine from a stall. Alex hadn’t thought that Michael had made him until the other caught his eyes, and winked, tossing his head a little, clearly inviting Alex to follow him. 

He raised an eyebrow, but followed him, out from the crowds, and towards the shed. “What are you doing?”

“I was hungry.” Michael said, as he stepped in, setting his ill-gotten gains down on the low table in the room. 

“And the wine?” Alex asked, unable to keep from laughing. 

“Thirsty too.” 

Alex shook his head, and spread out the blanket for them to sit on. He settled down on it, a little awkwardly, watching as Michael uncorked the wine bottle, took a drink from it, and offered it over. 

“Thanks.” He said, as he took it, took a drink. 

“You can thank me with a song?” The other suggested, with a soft smile. “I heard you playing, the other night… you’re really good.” 

“Oh.” Alex flushed… but found himself nodding, pleased. No one had ever actually liked his music before, which is why he brought it here, so that his father couldn’t be furious with him, wasting time on something so frivolous. 

He pulled out the lyre, after taking another, nervous sip of the wine, and began to play. At first, he watched Michael for his reactions… but after a few moments the intensity of the other’s eyes was too much, and he dropped his eyes to focus on the strings, finding the notes tentatively at first.

Soon enough though, he let the music sweep him away, fill him up. It was one of the few things that was ever just for _him_. Sharing it was a new experience, a good one. He eventually chanced a look up at Michael, leaning back against a pillow, eyes molten honey, a small smile on his pouty mouth.

_A mouth made for kissing,_ rose the thought, unbidden to Alex’s mind and his mouth went dry, fingers slipping into a discordant note. He took a breath, gripping the wooden frame of it. “Do… you want to play?” He asked quickly, offering the lyre over to him and hoping that Michael didn’t notice the flush rising on his cheeks.

“Always.” Michael said, taking it, nestling it into his arms. 

With the focus off of him, Alex felt like he could breathe again, and he availed himself of the figs and bread, sipping the wine here and there as he listened to Michael play. His fingers sure and gentle on the strings, the music he coaxed out almost otherworldly. Alex felt like he could lose hours, days here with him. 

It was almost evening before he really came back to himself… hours of them passing the lyre and the wine back and forth, and he was warm, and happy and safe. Michael was next to him, curls falling over his eyes. And Alex couldn’t help it, drawn in, leaning in for a kiss. 

Michael caught his breath, straightening, so that their lips didn’t meet. Staring at Alex for a long moment. Alex felt caught out, exposed… drawing back, immediately, suddenly noticing the lengthening shadows outside, the chill in the air that portended nightfall. “It’s late. I should go.” He got out through a throat that felt too tight.

“Wait.” Michael said, was catching his arm, pulling Alex back around before he could run off into the night. 

The moments stretched into seconds, stretched into what felt like an eternity as Michael just stared at him… and then pulled him in, kissing him, with a _need_ that nearly knocked Alex off his feet. All he could do was hold onto him, the lyre slipping from Michael’s arms as they wrapped arms around each other, crushed themselves to each other as if they could disappear into each other. 

He wasn’t even sure who bore the other down to the blanket – it didn’t matter. All he cared about was his hands, his mouth on Michael’s skin, the way Michael arched into it, needy, was touching him back, greedy. His body was warm, skin glowing in the sunset light breaking through the worn fabric that draped over the doorway. He could almost taste the waning sunlight in the hollow of Michael’s throat, feel it in the heat of his skin. 

For the first time, in a long time, he felt like he was home. 


End file.
